


I Used to Rule the World (Now the Old King is Dead)

by whenshewrites



Series: A Collection of One-Shots and Tumblr Prompts [91]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst But I Swear It Gets Better, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Derek Hale Loves Stiles Stilinski, Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Slash, Protective Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski Deserves Nice Things, Stiles Stilinski Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Stiles Stilinski Needs a Hug, dealing with death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:40:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23853964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whenshewrites/pseuds/whenshewrites
Summary: Post-nogitsune, Stiles feels emotions, Derek has questions, and the idiots realize how much they need each other.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: A Collection of One-Shots and Tumblr Prompts [91]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956889
Comments: 15
Kudos: 266





	I Used to Rule the World (Now the Old King is Dead)

One thing had bothered Derek since the battle against the nogitsune.

Between everything that’d happened and all they’d faced, Derek should probably be bothered by a lot more. But he’d seen so much in his life that things didn’t hurt him as deeply anymore. They happened, yes, and Derek knew another piece of him chipped away, but it didn’t hurt as badly. It just… kept him numb. Numb and quiet and broken.

But he felt this. 

This itch underneath his skin in the face of a question unanswered. Derek found it driving him. Leading him to a certain house, a certain window, a certain room. One that smelled more like sorrow and pain now than it even used to. Once, Derek couldn’t enter the room without getting hit by the smell of teenage boy; sweat, dirty clothes, and arousal. All the things that made him wrinkle his nose and roll his eyes.

Those smells were fainter now. Derek slipped through the window to smell salt, anxiety, and exhaustion. Stiles didn’t look up from his desk, though his eyes flicked over briefly. Derek didn’t know what that said about the boy. How little he seemed to care about a person climbing in through his window in the middle of the night.

Normally, Derek would chastise him for this. But this time, Derek stood uncertainly, one hand still wrapped around the window frame.

“Stiles.”

Stiles didn’t look back at him. Derek stepped forward to see a document pulled up on his computer and a hand-written written draft sitting next to his hand, but Stiles hadn’t typed anything yet. His fingers were unusually still. Dark rings formed bags under his eyes.

“Schoolwork?” Derek asked, because he didn’t know what else to say. And seeing Stiles this silent made him uncomfortable. Stiles finally turned his head.

“What are you doing here, Derek?”

“How are you feeling?”

Stiles’s eyes flashed. Derek smelled a wave of anger that rolled off him a second before he realized the mistake of his question and Stiles looked away, fingers clenching around his pen. His lips were curled back. “Seriously, Derek? How am I feeling? What the hell kind of question is that?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Derek said, drawing back. Stiles laughed humorlessly.

“You know, you could’ve saved yourself a trip if you’d actually come to the hospital while I was there. Then you could’ve seen exactly how  _ great _ I was doing and you wouldn’t need to bother with the token human ever again.”

Derek stared in silent shock. Stiles curled in on himself and his scent turned from sour anger to bitter misery. 

“Go away, Derek.”

But Derek didn’t move. Stiles shot him a glare, the rings under his eyes making them seem even darker. It was startlingly similar to the look of the nogitsune. Derek swallowed. “Stiles—”

“Go  _ away _ .”

“I should’ve gone by the hospital.”

Stiles’s eyes flickered briefly. He stared for a long moment, then rolled his eyes, turning away. “I didn’t actually need you. It’s fine.”

“But you’re not.”

“Am I supposed to be?”

Derek shifted, the breeze sweeping in through the open window at his back. He remembered why he’d come, then. Except the words stuck in his throat. Moving over, Derek sunk down on the edge of Stiles’s bed instead. It didn’t look like it’d been slept in for days. It didn’t smell like it either. And Stiles reeked of exhaustion.

Stiles turned to face him. Derek could see how gaunt his face was in the dim light, skin paler than usual. In contrast to the dark circles, red-rimmed around his eyes. 

“Derek,” Stiles said. “Why are you here?”

Derek looked down at his hands. There was a dream he’d had after nogitsune; one of Kate and gunpowder and death. One of Stiles and fingers and fear. One that’d driven him straight from the safety of his loft and into the uncertainty of being here. He swallowed. “What does the game of chess mean to you?”

Stiles stiffened. His scent changed again; turning cautious and guarded. “What?”

“What’s the King’s purpose?”

“Seriously? You came for a lesson on how to play chess?”

Derek looked up again and although Stiles’s words were flippant, his eyes were scared. His posture was anxious. “What’s the King mean to you, Stiles?”

“It’s a piece of wood.”

“And if it wasn’t?”

Stiles’s face hardened. His eyes flicked to the side for a second and Derek followed his gaze to see a closed chessboard. One that he recognized. A chill crept up his spine. Stiles looked back at him. “Why, Derek?”

“Why what?”

“Why won’t you ask me what you really want to know?”

Stiles’s voice broke on the last few words. There was pain in his eyes and misery in his scent, and Derek smothered the urge to flinch back. He glanced down at his hands again. Counted his fingers just like he’d been doing since dreaming. Was that a week ago? A few days?

“Derek,” Stiles said, eyes catching the reaction. “What do you really want to know?”

“Why was my name on the King?”

It’d bothered him since the nogitsune. Since he’d first seen the pink sticky note with his name scrawled in black letters, stuck to the most precious player. Everyone else in the room had looked at him and Derek? Derek had been frozen to the floor. Unable to move, unable to breathe. The smell of Stiles had been in the room and it’d been  _ Stiles,  _ not the nogitsune. Stiles with his fear and his panic and his determination. 

“The board in your room had all the players of the game with my name on the King,” Derek said. “But why? Why me?”

Stiles’s expression was strained. His knee jumped up and down and he wouldn’t meet Derek’s eyes for a long moment. Derek noticed his fingers trembling minutely. Nervously, the boy licked his lips. “Because you were the threat.”

“The threat?”

Stiles looked like he wanted to run. His eyes flicked to the window for a second and then to the door. His heartbeat sounded like a scared rabbit and when he looked back at Derek, his eyes were glazed. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I was supposed to die, Derek, do you know that?”

Derek stared.

“I was supposed to die. Not Allison, not anyone else. I had it planned out. When I was in control, I had it planned out.”

“Stiles—”

“I was supposed to die and take the nogitsune with me. And there was only one person that could stop that,” Stiles said fiercely. “Not Scott, not the rest of the pack. Not even my dad could’ve done anything. But one person could.”

A tear slipped down Stiles’s cheek. His arms were wrapped around his chest as if they’d be able to protect himself from his words, or maybe Derek from himself. Stiles was shaking. He was shaking and Derek leaned forward, reaching across the space between them to touch his arm. Stiles stilled and looked up.

“The King’s the most powerful player in the game,” Stiles said. “The threat.”

“Me?”

“I had an anchor,” Stiles said softly. “The nogitsune knew that. Do you remember facing him, Derek? He told me he’d kill you. He said you’d die.”

Stiles was trembling again and his eyes turned downcast. His skin was cold beneath Derek’s touch and Derek suddenly wanted to wrap the boy in his arms. Hold him until everything was okay again. But how long would that take? Derek didn’t think they’d ever have enough time.

“M’ sorry,” Stiles murmured. Derek didn’t even know what he was apologizing for and he didn’t think Stiles did either. But the words slipped from his lips anyway. “I’m sorry, Derek.”

Derek swallowed. He moved off the bed, sinking onto one knee so he was level with Stiles’s glassy eyes, and placed a hand over his knee. “You don’t need to apologize to me.”

“I need to apologize to a lot of people.”

“No, Stiles,” Derek said, suddenly angry. “What happened was not your fault.”

“Is that what you tell yourself? When you think about Kate?”

Derek drew back an inch and Stiles flinched, visibly deflating as he realized what words had left his lips. He shuddered and turned his head away.

“Sorry.”

“I had a dream,” Derek said. “After the nogitsune. I planned on leaving town, which is why I didn’t come to the hospital. I didn’t think I’d be able to leave if I did.”

Stiles looked back at him. His amber eyes were wide. 

“I dreamed Kate was there and she shot me,” Derek continued. “I was alone and I was dying, but then you were there. You were there with the scent of vanilla, the look of determination, and far too many fingers. And I thought I was dying, but you made me come back. You made me wake up.”

Another tear slipped down Stiles’s cheek. 

“I don’t know when my anchor stopped being anger,” Derek said softly. “But at some point, I know it started being you.”

Stiles closed his eyes and took a deep, trembling breath. Derek watched quietly until they flicked open again, lashes clumped wetly together. The breeze from the open window had filtered out the scent of the room slightly and while it still smelled like salt and pain, the scent of rage and hatred had dulled down. Derek could smell underlying hints of vanilla again.

Vanilla, sweat, and dirty clothes. Teenage hints from what felt like years ago.

“Is that okay?” Derek asked. Stiles stared at him.

“Are you asking if it’s okay you have an anchor to keep you human?”

“I’m asking if it’s okay that you keep me human.”

Stiles swallowed. His scent did something new; something strange, and Derek’s heart flipped. For a moment, he didn’t know what the boy’s answer would be. Stiles’s words trembled as they came out. “I was supposed to die, Derek. I planned to die. What would’ve happened to you then?”

Derek didn’t know.

“Would it have been anger again?’ Stiles asked. “You anchor? Because if you would’ve died, I’d be devastated.”

“About me?”

“Of course about you, you idiot!” Stiles said, his amber eyes suddenly blazing. “Don’t you understand that I’ve been in love with you for  _ years?  _ Or that when the nogitsune came, you were both what I needed to be near and what I did everything possible to stay away from? Cause dammit, Derek, you keep me human too.”

Derek looked at him in shock. Stiles stood, so Derek’s hand on his knee came sliding off, and he moved over the window, fingers stretching to pull it closed before he changed his mind. Derek could smell the anguish and frustration rolling off him. It mixed like poison against the sweet air of the night. Slowly, Derek pushed himself up too.

“If I told you to go,” Stiles said, gazing out the window. “Would you leave?”

Derek’s throat closed, but he nodded. Stiles turned back.

“And if I asked you to stay?”

“I came here for a reason,” Derek said softly. “There’s no place I’d rather be.”

“What if I asked you to stay for good?”

Derek stepped forward, taking one of Stiles’s hands by the wrist. He held it up to the light and counted his fingers; five on that one hand and five on the next. Stiles’s pulse rabbited beneath the pads of his fingers and the boy was barely breathing. Derek’s own breaths stuttered.

Because this was real, he realized. At some point between his dream and the itch underneath his skin, Derek had come here. Carefully, he let go and pulled his hand back. 

“If you asked me to stay for good then I’d never leave again.”

Stiles’s heart skipped a beat. 

One moment, the boy was a foot away and the next, his arms were wrapped around Derek’s neck, face buried in the crook of his neck. Stiles’s entire body was shaking even though he didn’t even feel that cold. He was crying again.

Derek stiffened for a moment, then melted into the embrace, turning his head so he could feel Stiles’s breaths against his skin. His chest felt unusually tight. Stiles held onto Derek like he was the only thing keeping them both from sinking straight through the floor.

“I’d like you to stay,” Stiles whispered. “Please, Derek.”

Derek tightened his grip, hoping that’d be answer enough. He closed his eyes and inhaled, smelling anxiety, hope, and fear. Sorrow, fragility, and love. Derek swallowed. 

“I’ll stay. Of course, I’ll stay.”

The tension in Stile’s body ebbed away. Derek was left nearly holding his entire frame up; but maybe that’s what the boy needed right now. The feeling of Stiles’s warm breaths came out in small gasps and his skin was damp against Derek’s. An itch underneath Derek’s skin had faded away.

He let himself close his eyes and just stand there, taking everything in.

Because between everything that’d happened and all they’d faced, Derek should probably be a lot more broken. But he’d seen so much in his life that things didn’t hurt him so deeply anymore. They happened, yes, and Derek knew another piece of him chipped away, but it didn’t hurt as badly. It just… kept him shattered. Shattered and empty and numb.

But he felt this.

He felt the body against his own and the weight keeping him fixed to the floor. An anchor in his bones of all the things known and answered. Derek found it steadying him. Keeping him upright in this town, in this house, this room. Derek didn’t think he could leave even if he wanted to, though he didn’t. He never wanted to leave again.

“I’ll stay,” Derek whispered again. “I’ll always be here, Stiles.”

Stiles murmured something he didn’t make out, the words muffled by his skin. But that was okay. Derek didn’t plan on letting go. 

Over Stiles’s shoulder, Derek looked at the closed chessboard again. He remembered the pink sticky note with his name scrawled in black letters, stuck to the most precious piece. The King and all its players. Stiles’s last message as he tried to protect them. 

Derek closed his eyes, knowing he’d protect Stiles too. He’d protect him with his last breath. Because Stiles was Derek’s anchor, and Derek?

Derek was Stiles’s king.

**Author's Note:**

> I know, the angst in this had angst. But I was in a mood and will never be over how Jeff left season three. I hope you're all doing well and taking care of yourselves <3 Your comments and support give me life! Also, come hang with me on Tumblr or something, cause you're all amazing
> 
> [ https://when-she-writes-stuff.tumblr.com](https://when-she-writes-stuff.tumblr.com)


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